"Pardon me, madam," he returned, with a polite bow. "I did not mean to say that you were not in pain. I only mean to say that I think that you are mistaken in its exact locality."
"I don't see how I can be. I have had it long enough, I should think, to determine its locality with some certainty."
"Let me examine your mouth again, madam," said the dentist.
This time he examined the right jaw—the pain was on the left side.
"I think I have found out the enemy," said he, as he took the instrument from my mouth with which he had been sounding my teeth. "The corresponding tooth on the other side has commenced decaying, and the nerve is already slightly exposed."
"But what has that to do with this side?" I put my hand where the pain was, as I spoke.
"It may have a good deal to do with it. We shall soon see." And he went to his case of instruments.
"You are not going to extract it, doctor!" I rose from the operating chair in alarm.
"Oh no, no, madam! I am only going to put something into it, to destroy the sensibility of the nerve, previous to preparing it for being filled. The tooth can still be preserved. We will know in a minute or two whether all the difficulty lies here."
A preparation, in which I could perceive the taste and odour of creosote, was inserted in the cavity of the decayed tooth. In less than five seconds I was free from pain.